Puppy Love
by Tranquie
Summary: I always thought Quil and Claire love story was very cute. I thought to make my own adaptation.


Disclaimer: All recognizable character belong to the lovely, literisticly creative 'Stephenie Meyer'

_#Karen's Scribble: __I always thought Quil and Claire love story was very cute. I thought to like my own adaptation. _

_This story was made possible by the lovely __**ariaswordheart **__who was brave enough to edit my shocking raw works. I also have to thank __**blissfulmemories **__for her support and encouragement, who was also brave enough to volunteer in fixing my mistakes and low self-esteem. And also __**Monkey-en-tutu **__who also very generous to volunteer to edit my work, too._

_Be careful __**blissfulmemories**__ and __**Monkey-en-tutu**__, bad grammar is so coming your way!_

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**Puppy Love (in Jacob's POV)**

_By Slippery Snow_

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Tears swelled beneath those wide green eyes. Twixt lips quivered to the emotion of haste. Irrational thoughts and misunderstandings caused infinite cries. Rushing feet and tenacious pouts. Love caused these devotees to forget to say goodbye.

The little one panicked as soon as she heard the news. He was gone. Of course, an infant's thoughts were ambiguous to a more educated being. Without the mature understanding of the world -- as the mind is not yet fully developed, it was normal for an infant to act impulsively. That would be how a wise man with logical intelligence would interpret these actions. But I knew, it was love that simulated actions of impetuousness.

It was not impulsive. It was logic almost. Of course, a wise man would not know. He had never surrendered himself to love.

Love was not given for granted. As soon as it is insularly lost, one would seek to find it again. It was nature, or intuition, but not inferiority. It is a journey without destination, finding it was the treasure.

It was entertaining. Yes, that was the word. An enlightening concept almost, I suppose. The way he held her fragile form, the softness of his touch. The way his hands could not ease away from her smooth cheeks, the kind obsession. The way he panicked when she cried, the anxiety in his eyes, and the way he smiled contiguously when she could, the entwined emotions. Through their gentlest of abstinence, it was love. Only a fool would not know.

But it was a fool, a sycophantic fool that could surrender to the blindness and kindness of love.

Quil had surrendered. His eyes told all. But he was no fool.

The way he stared! I would see him support his head with his right hand, tilting his face and observe. He knew exactly how many breaths she had taken, how many times she had blinked, how many steps she had taken before falling down again. He could understand her incredulous language of the babies and love her volubility. He could foretell her movement. He could have his hand and heart free, constantly vacant for the day her feelings will come in return. There was a connection there that a wise man would always miss. It was only fools that could dwell in the supremacy of love.

But we are no fools.

There love was like no other. It was delicate, secretive and adorable. It was not embarrassing when they would cuddle, or disturbing when he would kiss her on the forehead. It was sweet, like puppy love.

In this case, I suppose it was ironically true: a young wolf in love with a younger human.

The moment her teary eyes glanced upon her future lover, the tears immediately ceased. A tiny familiar smile curled her lips upwards. She wobbled her way to Quil, while he readied his arms open and welcoming. A few giggles escaped from here and there, filling in the atmosphere with echoes of laughter and of sudden, absolute happiness. It was interesting to watch how their love grew. Slower than most of us, but much warmer and richer. More special.

She crashed her petite body next to the warm loving boy, and she held tight, sighed, and then closed her eyes, finally succumbing to sleep. He carried his sleeping seraph up the sets of stairs and placed her tenderly into her comfy crib. Then he would just stare.

"I'm glad you came home early, she had been crying ever since she realized you were gone." Emily whispered in a hushed voice.

"I know, I couldn't stay away either." Quill admitted.

"She made you something today," Emily remembered, then walked to a drawing table and pulled out a sheet of glittery paper.

Quill held it tight in his warm hands, touched nearly to tears. There was a picture of a big head drawn in a blue crayon and a figure of a smaller head drawn in pink. Their heads connected together, ear to ear. A curled, long red line on their faces resembled genuine smiles and arched, irregular letters wrote: _the world's greatest big brother, I love you._

First he will be her greatest brother, then he will be her greatest friend, then sweethearts, then soul mates, then eternal lovers.

All he had to do was wait.

It was only then that I realized why lovers were called fools. I was the fool. I dwell in the supremacy of love, requited, but true. I look upon others' adoration and have not had any myself. I longed for love, as did the poets and writers who had created the term, but I wanted a love that could never be rightfully be mine. I was a fool to think I could covet. I was a fool to fall unconditionally in love with _her_.

But I was in love with her and …?


End file.
